Barry Cornwall

The Old Witch In The Copse - Poem by Barry Cornwall

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I am a Witch, and a kind old Witch,There's many a one knows that--Alone I live in my little dark houseWith Pillycock, my cat.A girl came running through the night,When all the winds blew free:--"O mother, change a young man's heartThat will not look on me.O mother, brew a magic meadTo stir his heart so cold.""Just as you will, my dear," said I;"And I thank you for your gold."So here am I in the wattled copseWhere all the twigs are brown,To find what I need to brew my meadAs the dark of night comes down.Primroses in my old hands,Sweet to smell and young,And violets blue that spring in the grassWherever the larks have sung.With celandines as heavenly crownsYellowy-gold and bright; All of these,O all of these,Shall bring her Love's delight.But orchids growing snakey greenSpeckled dark with blood,And fallen leaves that curled and shrankAnd rotted in the mud,With blistering nettles burning harshAnd blinding thorns above;All of these, O all of theseShall bring the pains of Love.Shall bring the pains of Love, my Puss,That cease not night or day,The bitter rage, nought can assuageTill it bleeds the heart away.Pillycock mine, my hands are fullMy pot is on the fire.Purr, my pet, this fool shall getHer fool's desire.